Psychedelic Reflections
by themusicalcat
Summary: Feliciano Vargas has been having strange hallucinations of a man who looks just like himself, but isn't. Upon seeing these things, he can't help but question why he's seeing them and if there is a secret that has been kept from them all.
1. Chapter 1

Italy Veneziano sat up and stretched. "That was such a nice nap, ve!" he yawned as he stood. He looked at the clock on his nightstand to check the time. 6:45 AM. He cocked his head to the side as he tried to remember what time he had gone to bed to wake up so early… Wasn't it 2:00 PM yesterday? No, that couldn't be right, he thought. He did like sleeping, but he had just lain down for a nap. There was no way he slept for nearly seventeen hours straight! Although, now that he thought about it, he didn't actually sleep very well. He recalled waking up several times in fear of...what? "Surely just bad dreams," he said to himself, "but why don't I remember? Oh well, I'll just forget about this and go make pasta!"

He skipped to the bathroom to wash his hands, but he ran into the wall a couple of times due to his tiredness. After a few tries, he managed to get inside the small bathroom and he scrubbed his hands, splashing some cold water on his face to wake himself up. As he toweled his hands off, he checked himself in the mirror. His hair was ruffled from sleep, but other than that- wait, why were his eyes pinkish purple? He blinked and his eyes were their normal amber color. He blinked again, deciding that he must have imagined it, and hung the fluffy white towel back on the shiny towel rack. Feeling much more awake than just moments before, he skipped out of the room, down the hall and to the kitchen.

Feliciano made a small exclamation of disappointment and shock when he saw that the handle on the pasta maker had been broken off. "Who would do such a thing?!" he cried. "What am I going to make for dinner now?" He realized he was starting to hyperventilate and decided he should eat breakfast before worrying about anything else.

He opened the refrigerator door in search of something to eat. Eggs, no, lettuce, no, frittata, no, tiramisu? Why not? He pulled the dish containing the tiramisu out of the fridge. As he grabbed a fork, he didn't look at it, but if he had, he would have seen a brown reflection, despite nothing in the room being brown.

=^w^=

About an hour later, everyone's favorite-not favorite South Italian stomped into the kitchen, muttering unintelligibly but angrily. Veneziano caught "Spain" and "tomatoes". "Ve? What's wrong-" he paused to yawn, "fratellone?"

Rather than answering, the older brother shot the younger a glare. To his brother's bafflement, he snapped, "Everything is wrong! Starting with you fucking kicking me off the bed in the middle of the night!"

"I did that? I'm so sorry!"

"Hmph... And then I went to my own room and Spain was in there, stroking my tomato pillows!" He was about as red with rage as his beloved tomatoes. "Who the hell does that?!"

"Um...other than you and Spain?"

"Shut up! I never asked for your opinion!" Romano's face became even redder, if that was possible.

"Well, actually, you did ask a question!" The thought hovered in the back of his mind, _why did I say that? _However, something inside him was ticked off at the lack of sleep and just wanted to strike out at someone, somehow. "Would you prefer if I wouldn't talk to you at all?!"

"How about yes? 'Veee, pasta this, Germany that! Oh, help me, Doitsu, I forgot how to tie my shoes!' It's fucking driving me insane!" Romano retorted.

"Excuse me, you daydream about Spain 24/7 and I'm not allowed to talk to Germany? Get out! I'm done with you!"

Shock briefly flashed across the older brother's face, before being replaced by anger, "You know what, I never liked you anyway!" he shouted as he turned on his heel and stalked out. Mere seconds later, the sound of the front door slamming echoed throughout the house.

Veneziano smirked briefly, having won an argument for the first time, but then the realization of what just happened washed over him. _What have I done?... _He rushed to the window with the intention of calling his brother back and apologizing, but he caught his reflection in the glass; it was hard to see, since by now it was daytime and the sun shone brightly, but something was not right… When did he put on a hat? He raised his hand to his head and felt nothing but hair.

=^w^=

"Germany?"

"Ja, Italien?" Germany's voice came from the phone Italy held.

"Germany… I…" Italy struggled to keep himself from sobbing.

"Vhat's bothering you, Italy?" Concern touched the German's voice.

"I…" He couldn't tell his friend that something was wrong with his reflection; the German would never be able to take him anything close to seriously ever again. "I had a fight with my brother and then he yelled and left and said he hated me and I don't know what to do!" By the end of this, Italy was wailing. "What should I do, Germany?"

"Calm down, Italy… Do you vant me to come over there?" Germany asked.

"Si… Per favore!" Germany would fix everything. Surely he would. He was Germany, surely he knew what to do. Italy wasn't sure how his friend would fix anything, but the thought comforted him, so he kept it. He realized that Germany had hung up and would be on his way. When he brushed his hand against his face and it came away wet, he decided he should go wash his face and pull himself together before Germany arrived. He plodded to the nearest bathroom and grabbed a washcloth, turning the faucet on to wet it. After scrubbing his face, he laid the cloth down and examined his reflection. He blinked, and it changed; pinkish-purple eyes, a brown uniform, a small hat, and a devilish grin on a person that at once looked exactly like him and exactly the opposite. Aside from looking like him, the figure looked strangely familiar, but he couldn't put a finger on it.

Without warning, the person in the mirror started moving on its own, pulling out… A knife?! Italy panicked and swung his fist at the mirror to be rewarded with a shatter and glass raining down. He blinked rapidly, feeling a throbbing in his hand and looking at it to see scraped, bloody knuckles. Suddenly lightheaded, he thought he heard a voice, almost like his own, whisper, "Grazie e addio, bastardo!" As he blacked out, he heard a sound like a door slamming.

* * *

_A/N: After spending a while on this, I'm finally done with the first chapter... I hope you like it! Review, favorite and follow if you did, per favore! I'm going to try to also finish another chapter or two of different stories this week, so keep an eye out for those if you're interested. By the way, would anyone like or dislike if I used my OC Sicily in this or in another story? Let me know what you think, and arrivederci until next time!_


	2. Chapter 2

When Germany arrived, he was surprised to find the front door ajar. "Italy?" he called, wondering if he had been waiting at the door.

No answer.

"Italy?" Germany shouted again. _Why isn't he answering?_

When he still didn't get an answer, he became worried and pushed the door open. _I hope he didn't do something stupid... _Entering and closing the door behind him, he decided to look for the Italian to make sure he was alright.

As he walked down a hallway, instinct made him turn and look inside the room he was passing, and his breath caught in his chest. His little Italian friend was crumpled on the floor, surrounded by broken glass, cut and bloody.

"Feliciano…" he whispered, kneeling beside him. Feeling for a pulse, he sighed with relief, "He's still alive…"

"Oh, what a good thing you showed up! We wouldn't want your PATHETIC little friend to die alone, now, would we?"

Germany spun around to find the source of the voice blocking the doorway. He found himself staring into the face of the man Italy had been seeing in his reflection - not that he knew that part. Grinning maliciously, the strange Italian idly twirled a knife between his fingers while studying the taller man, much like a cat staring down a mouse.

"Who are you?" Germany asked, puzzled by this strange man who looked very similar to the one passed out on the floor.

"Don't you remember me? I'm Italy Veneziano," he smirked.

=^w^=

"What? Your brother kicked you out of your own house?" Spain's face showed his complete and utter confusion. "Italy? Kicked you out?"

"Shut up, Spain… I'm not in the mood for you to be all fucking perplexed at me," Romano complained. His complaining was inevitable, even though he was the one who showed up at Spain's house.

"Well, Romatoma, you can stay with me until you get un-kicked out of your house! Just like when you were little!" Spain smiled.

Romano opened his mouth to refuse, and quite rudely at that, but as he wasn't a complete idiot, he realized he had no better options. "I… I guess so. I'll just go back home and grab some stuff first."

=^w^=

After Romano snuck into his house via the back door and gone to his room to get a few things, he took a look out the window. _First fratello was acting weird, and now he starts dressing weird? Fuck it all, has he lost it?_

As his brother clearly wasn't in the house if he was outside, Romano decided to leave through the front door since it was a shorter walk. However, as he walked to it….

"CHIGIIIIIII?! WHY THE HELL IS THAT FUCKING GERMAN TAKING A NAP IN THE HALLWAY?!"

Romano backed away, just in case his shouting woke the "potato bastard", as Roma called him, but he didn't even twitch. Odd. Now that he noticed it, there was a red stain on the floor that looked awfully similar to… Blood. Germany's or Italy's? Should he even care? He hated them both, didn't he? Growing paranoid, he looked into all the nearby rooms, anywhere a hitman could be hiding. He was even more shocked than Germany was to find his brother in the state he was in.

"Ch-che?! Wh-what the FUCK happened here?! Did they both go mad and try to kill each other? Oh, fuck my life! Who was that other guy? Are there TWO Venezianos? Oh, damn it! Who broke the mirror? Vene should KNOW that's bad luck…" Realizing he was rambling, Romano clamped his mouth shut and kneeled next to his brother. "Fratello...you're an idiot...but you can't just die like this!" Lowering his voice, he whispered, "I'm sorry… I shouldn't have left… But I won't rest until whoever did this is brought to justice..."

"Oh? And what do you plan to do about that, _fratello_?"

* * *

_VivaAmerica here. *peeks out from under a blanket* As you can see, I am currently scared out of my wits for Romano's sake. *shivers* 'Cat here is an amazing writer (and didn't need an editor btw) so make sure to comment!_

Oh look at that, Viva stole my italics… Oh well, no matter. You flatter me too much! Just because you didn't do much doesn't mean you weren't a huge help!

**I can use bold if you'd like? XD**

_Hmm, that works. XD Grazie~! And thank all you lovely readers, too! Review please~!_


	3. Chapter 3

"I'm going to kick your fucking ass," Romano growled, though he was really thinking, _Oh shit, I'mdeadI'mdeadI'mdead…_

The man who strangely looked almost exactly like his brother laughed as if reading his mind. "Really? Go ahead and try," he smirked. In the blink of an eye, he was holding a knife.

Romano's eyes widened and he backed away, looking frantically for anything he could use for a weapon. Seeing a particularly large glass shard, he practically threw himself to the ground to grab it and hastily stood back up. Tightly gripping it, he didn't even notice the sharp edge digging into his hand, so focused on the other man he was.

Veneziano's alter ego(?) advanced, smiling maliciously, "Now, _Romano,_ if you surrender and promise to do exactly what I tell you, I might let you live."

Romano, who really didn't want to die, asked, "What the hell do you want from me? A-and who are you, bastard?!"

"Language, language… I might need to cut that tongue out. I'm your brother's second player, but call me only Luciano."

"A-and you want...?"

"An oath of loyalty until death, and you will do whatever I say without questioning it or telling anyone." Luciano smirked - why was he so...smirky?- as he demanded almost exactly what the mafia did.

This reminder of how often he let the mafia get away with whatever they wanted brushed a nerve. "Like hell I will!" Romano exploded, throwing the shard in his hand at the second player.

Luciano brought his dagger up to block it, lazily, like he almost couldn't be bothered. "A shame," he murmured. "Well, this is my house now, and I can't very well let you leave alive when you could go blabbing about me."

"Ch-che?!"

Before Romano even had time to register that he was about to die, he had a knife at his throat.

"Buonanotte, bastardo~" Luciano sounded like he had been eagerly awaiting this moment since Romano walked in.

Romano closed his eyes, trying desperately not to show his fear and despair. _I'm sorry, Feliciano. I failed as your brother._

~Meanwhile~

A knock at the door startled England from his cup of tea. Was it Tuesday? He went to open the door and found himself staring into a familiar face.

"Oh, it's you, Romania," he welcomed his friend. "Come in. Would you care for some tea?"

"Yes, please," the red-eyed nation mumbled. Something was on his mind.

England poured the Romanian a steaming, pleasantly scented cup of tea. When he tried to hand it over, though, Romania was staring off into space. "Romania? Are you alright, mate?" he inquired

"Wh- oh yeah, I'm fine! Everything's great!" Romania grinned, although his smile slipped as soon as he thought England wasn't looking.

"Why are you here?" England prodded.

"I just...wanted to get out of the house, you know? Too many mirrors." Romania's house did have a surprising number of reflective surfaces, and it was well-known that he didn't like them. Why he kept them despite this dislike confused many a nation when they bothered to think about it, but some theorized that he didn't show up in mirrors because he was a vampire, and thus he kept them to scare away unwanted guests with undeniable proof that he was undead.

"I see," England murmured. Only England, Norway, and Romania himself knew the real reason for his hatred of mirrors; they brought back memories none of them wanted to think about, especially Romania.

(~_~;)

"_Oh, do take a cupcake! Just one! You know you want to," teased England's second player, a strawberry blond with unnaturally bright blue eyes._

_England struggled against his bonds as Oliver waved the platter of one dozen tantalizing cupcakes under his nose. There was no way he had gone to all the trouble of capturing him just to feed him cupcakes. No, there was certainly something nasty in them. "I don't want a bloody cupcake, or anything from you!"_

"_Aww, come on, I only put rat poison in three of them~ Oh, and two have hemlock, and five contain cyanide~" Oliver smiled a smile that could have been on a child's face, a child who could never dream of being as terrible as him. "The other two are completely safe. Choose wisely, Artie, and may the odds be ever in your favor."_

(~_~;)

No, he did not want a reminder of those memories. Not at all. And he wouldn't have envied Romania even if his own trials had been ten times worse. No wonder the other country wasn't his usual cheerful self, if that was what he was thinking about.

And so England and Romania sat, neither of them talking, but remembering things they would rather have forgotten.

* * *

_A/N: …. Please don't kill me. If you kill me you will never know what happens next! But if anyone has any ideas what's coming next, leave them in a review! (xXSoul-dweller and MuddyBuddyPancakes THIS DOES NOT MEAN YOU!) I won't confirm or deny them, but I would love to hear what you think. Also, thanks to everyone who reviewed, favorited and followed this! It makes my day when someone likes anything I write, especially this since it is so different from what I usually write. Happy holidays, everyone!_


	4. Chapter 4

Spain stood outside the Italians' house, feeling conflicted. _Romano might need help with his stuff, so I should go help… Or maybe he doesn't need help and he'll yell at me… _Deciding that it didn't really matter if Romano got mad - _he's so cute when he turns red like a tomato!_\- he pushed open the front door and entered to make his way to the South Italian's room. At least, that was his intention until he heard what sounded like North Italy's voice, too soft to make out the words but with a hint of a threat. Driven by curiosity, he started toward it, then hesitated. He couldn't have said why, but something was wrong with this entire situation.

Maybe it was Veneziano's sudden lack of adoration for his brother, and how the friendly Italian had been acting oddly recently, especially with kicking his brother out, as Romano told him.

Maybe it was the hostile silence that the house had, compared to its normal cheerful atmosphere.

Or maybe instinct told him that his Lovi was in danger.

Whatever the reason, he felt that it would be prudent to not go defenseless. Recalling that Romano had a machine gun hidden in his closet from his mafia days, he rushed to the closet to retrieve it before heading quietly to where he heard the voice.

"Buonanotte, bastardo~" he heard a singsong voice say - it couldn't possibly be Feli!

Fearing he would be too late, he gave up all attempts at stealth and ran until he was met by the scene of Germany sprawled out in the hall in front of a bathroom, Italy crumpled on the floor in the bathroom and someone who looked just like Italy, albeit with a change of clothes, pinning Romano to the wall with a knife to his throat. Rage flooded through him as he raised the weapon.

"Step away from Lovino," he coldly demanded.

The Veneziano look-alike spun to face him, but kept the knife pressed to Romano's neck. "Oh, is he your little boy-toy? Too bad, I don't think I will."

"Spain!" Romano choked out, eyes wide. "How-" He got no further before the other man's attention was on him and he froze.

"Step away or I will shoot," Spain thundered, flames of fury in his eyes.

"Think you can kill me before I kill him?" the stranger replied. Romano cried out in pain as his blood beaded onto the blade.

"No, but you'll still be dead."

Evidently he made his seriousness clear; he barely had time to duck before the knife flew through the place where his head had been, and the strange Italian was gone as soon as he raised his head. He turned to see what happened to the knife and it had disappeared as well. He would have wondered about that if he didn't have more pressing issues to worry about at the moment.

"Roma-toma!" Spain rushed to the Italian as he sank to his knees, hyperventilating, with tears rolling down his face.

"S-Spagna… I… I nearly died..." Romano whispered. That was the last intelligible thing Spain could get out of him for a while; he sobbed into the Spaniard's shoulder for a full twenty minutes.

_What do you do for someone who's in shock? _Spain wondered.

(~_~;)

_Italy's eyes widened in fear as his captor strode into the room. Luciano, his second player, or so he called himself, liked "games", but he was never one to play nice._

"_Buon pomeriggio!" he smiled menacingly. "What shall we do today? I think we should play the knife game, don't you?"_

"_P-please...per favore...no…" Veneziano whimpered in terror._

_Ignoring Feliciano's pleas, Luciano pulled out his knife, grabbed Feli's hand, spread the fingers on the table in front of him, and started stabbing the table between the fingers. "Oh, I have all my fingers, the knife goes chop chop chop, if I miss the spaces in between my fingers will come off," he sang._

_Feliciano didn't dare pull his hand away; he had learned from experience that although the second player could play the game at great speed without even nicking a finger, he wasn't as merciful if his "plaything" didn't want to cooperate._

"_And if I hit my fingers, the blood will soon come out, but all the same I play this game 'cause that's what it's all about," Luciano continued, a smile on his face as he sped up the motion of the knife._

_Feliciano barely kept himself from crying out as the blade sliced the skin on the side of one of his fingers, but Luciano caught his whimper and smirked, "Are we having fun yet?"_

_Italy wouldn't remember the dream when he awoke; he never did, although the reason was something more than simple forgetfulness. That didn't matter; right then, nothing was real but the man and the knife that tormented him._

* * *

_A/N: Merry Christmas. Romano isn't dead. Italy isn't dead either. Spain apparently got the ability to read the mood. Germany… Well, that remains to be seen._

**VivaAmerica here! Happy Holidays everyone! As themusicalcat often says, I didn't do much in the way of editing. **

_Peace of mind, Viva. You've said it yourself, have you not?_

***chuckles* Tis true. Show your love and leave a review…. And pray for these poor nations… **

_Oh, and go check out Viva's story Christmas Kisses! It's adorable! And my story Tis the Season to be Italian…? is much more lighthearted than this. Can't go depressing people on Christmas, now, can I? Don't answer that._

***whispers* A Christmas Carol… **

… _Anyway, have a happy holiday season~! Arrivederci until next time!_


	5. Chapter 5

Spain smiled slightly as he gazed at Romano - he had been so worn out from being completely terrified that he had fallen asleep - but that smile turned into a scowl as he thought of the man who had tried to take his Lovi away. _I don't care who he looks like, if he thinks he can kill Romano and Veneziano he's a problem! _Speaking of Veneziano… Spain carefully laid Romano on the floor, making sure to keep him away from the broken glass, and gingerly pressed his fingers to North Italy's wrist. His eyes widened when he couldn't feel a pulse or see the Italian's chest moving, but he forced himself to stay calm; no need to wake up Romano and make him worry. Spain lowered himself to place his ear against Feliciano's chest, hoping, praying… After what seemed like an eternity, he heard a soft _lub-dub… lub-dub… _The Spaniard heaved a huge sigh of relief. At least they were both alive, although he wasn't sure heartbeats were supposed to be that slow. Germany wasn't nearly as worrying; his chest rose and fell visibly, and he even stirred a bit. Now the important thing was to get everyone out before Italy's look-alike returned to finish them off, but there were too many of them to do it alone. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and called a friend he had on speed dial.

"Guten tag, Spain! Vhat's up?"

"Hola, Prussia! Can you come over to Italy's right now?

"Vas? Vhy?"

"I need help getting your brother out of here."

If Prussia was confused, he didn't sound like it. "The awesome me will be there ASAP!" There was a beep as the line disconnected, and Spain occupied himself by moving the Italian brothers out of the bathroom and sweeping up the broken glass. He knew that he would drive himself insane by worrying if he didn't do something.

=^w^=

Prussia had been lazing around the house, wondering why West had suddenly disappeared without a word, and to where, when he got Spain's call. Now he knew all he needed to know - Germany was at Italy's house and something bad had happened - and he was driving, recklessly as his brother would say, as fast as he could to get there before he was too late. He swerved around corners and sped down straightaways until he finally reached his destination. He jumped out of the car and ran inside, not even bothering to knock because he was "too awesome" for that.

"Spain?"

"Over here!" his friend called.

Prussia ran toward the voice and found Spain standing over the Italy brothers and Germany, who were all sleeping or unconscious.

"What happened to them?!"

"I'll explain later, but first, can you help me take them to your place?" Spain's voice sounded strained, worried.

"Right! I'll get mein bruder!" Prussia scooped up his younger brother to take him to the car as Spain struggled to pick up the smaller two personifications.

"Mmph… I can walk… lemme go, bastard," Romano mumbled, eyes still shut.

Spain just chuckled softly at this, eventually succeeding at holding an Italian in each arm. He wasn't a pirate anymore, but fortunately he was almost as strong as he used to be.

=^w^=

England watched Romania cradle a teacup in his trembling hands; he looked much calmer and happier than he had an hour earlier, but maybe he had drunk too much caffeinated tea.

"Do you want any more?" England inquired, proffering the teapot which he had already refilled twice.

"No thanks, I think I'm good," Romania smiled.

"Let me take that for you then," England offered, reaching for Romania's cup.

"No! I mean, I'll take care of it. I've been here often enough." Romania jumped up and took the teacup to the kitchen, England following with the teapot and his own cup. He had barely stepped inside the room when he heard a crash and the sound of breaking china.

"Ouch! Sorry, England...hand slipped," the red-eyed nation confessed, turning red from embarrassment; if he had just let his friend take the cup, it wouldn't have been broken. "I'll replace it, I swear!"

"That's not important, I have plenty more just like it. Did you cut yourself?" the Britt asked, concerned.

"It's nothing. I'll help you clean it up," Romania insisted.

"No. Go sit down. I'll take care of it and get you a bandage."

"If you insist..."

England strode to the bathroom, to the cabinet where he kept most of his bandages, and realized that he had no idea what size he needed. He grabbed a box of various sizes and nearly left without a thought save those of Romania and a shattered teacup, but he glanced in the mirror and saw a bright blue eye, his but not his, wink at him.

_Shit._

As he returned to his guest, England pulled his mobile phone out of his pocket, jabbed at the numbers, and missed because his hands were shaking even more than Romania's had been. He swore and yelled, even though they were now both in the same room, "Call Norway and tell him to get over here! It's starting again!"

* * *

_... Gosh Romano. You have one line, you're not even awake, and it's still one of my favorites. *shakes head* How does this happen? Anyway... I took advantage of a "snow" day to finish this and am now posting it at nearly midnight. Stuff is happening, and it seems like the Magic Trio know more about it than they maybe should. I'd like to hear any theories you may have!_


	6. Chapter 6

"So... You're saying zhat someone who looks like Ita tried to kill him, Romano, and Vest?" Prussia was undeniably confused. "Vait, doesn't Ita have anozer bruder?"

"It wasn't Seborga," Spain insisted. "I didn't get a good look at him, but it wasn't Seborga."

"But zhen, who vas it?"

"... I don't know," Spain admitted. "We can ask them when they wake up. One of them has got to know something."

"Whaz goin on...?" the South Italian, at least half asleep, mumbled.

"Roma!" Spain grinned and gave the smaller man a huge hug.

"Get off me, bastardo!" Romano complained, trying to shove the Spaniard away.

Spain reluctantly released the Italian but asked, "Who was that person earlier?"

Romano groaned, "Dammit, I was hoping that was just a nightmare..." Not needing any clarification as to which person Spain was asking about, he continued, "Luciano... He called himself a second player... Whatever the hell that means."

"Second player?" Spain raised an eyebrow and glanced at Prussia, who confirmed with a shrug that he didn't know either. "France?"

"Let me zhink..." the Frenchman pondered.

Romano screamed, "When the fuck did he get here?" As an afterthought, he added, "Where is here?"

Prussia cackled, "Velcome to mein house! Vell, more like Vest's. I've claimed the basement because I'm too awesome to not be here if mein bruder needs me."

France, who had dressed up in a nurse uniform, winked, "And I've been 'ere nearly as long as you 'ave."

Romano screamed again.

"Second player... Ze phrase sounds familiar... Perhaps Angleterre mentioned it?" France considered.

"We should ask him! It's our best lead!" Spain announced.

France already had his phone out and was dialing the number. He put the call on speakerphone, and after a few minutes of ringing, they all heard a British accent say, "What is it this time, you bloody frog?"

"Oh, so rude! Why must you 'urt me so, Angleterre?" France placed a hand over his heart dramatically, regardless of the fact that England couldn't see it.

"What do you want?" England snapped in reply. "If you're asking me again to marry you, forget it."

"Non, this is serious."

"... Go on." Something in the Britt's voice had changed; perhaps he was surprised by France's seriousness.

"Zis is very important... What do you know about 'second players'?" France inquired.

"... Nothing I can tell you, frog." The phone beeped as England disconnected the call.

France looked satisfied nonetheless. "'e is 'iding somezhing, which means 'e knows somezhing. We just need to make 'im tell us what it is."

"How?" Spain asked the question they were all thinking.

"We go to 'is 'ouse and stay until 'e tells us," France replied.

"Like hell that'll work," Romano grunted skeptically.

"Trust me, after a while 'e will do anyzhing to get rid of anyone as unpleasant as you," France shot back at him.

"I'm not leaving my brother until I know he's going to be okay," Romano retorted.

"Of course we wouldn't leave him here alone!" Spain interjected, aware that they couldn't afford a fight right now. "Feli's coming with us!"

"Vhat about Vest?" Prussia wondered.

"Vhat about me?"

"Bruder! How long have you been standing there?" Prussia was startled to see Germany standing in the doorway.

"A few minutes."

"Are you alright?"

"Ja, fine. Just a headache... Vhy is Romano here? Did something happen...?" Germany looked confused, which caused everyone else to feel as confused as he looked.

"Don't you remember?" Spain questioned softly.

"Remember vhat?"

Spain, Romano, and Prussia exchanged glances, silently deciding what they should tell him. Obviously they didn't know exactly what had happened to him or Italy, but much had occurred that the German should know about even if he appeared to not remember anything unusual happening. Even Romano couldn't deny that he had a right to know at least what they knew—well, not more than halfheartedly.

"Well, you see..." Spain began.

=^w^=

"Are you ready?" England asked the mobile phone.

"Ready," Norway replied from the other end of the line. It was suspected by many nations that the Magic Trio could teleport from place to place, and this was partially true. However, it took one to open the portal on one side, and one on the other side to open that side, much like a tunnel blocked off on both sides. Without someone to keep the exit open, it was possible to become trapped, neither here nor there, but somewhere in another plane of existence, perhaps. In short, they could join each other in this way, but they had to use more mundane methods to go their separate ways.

Simultaneously, England and Norway started chanting a spell, and a swirling blue portal appeared in the center of England's living room. The spell completed, Norway announced, "I'm coming now," disconnecting the call. England and Romania stared expectantly at the portal.

For a full minute, nothing happened.

Then the portal started sparkling and the Norwegian flew out. He hit the wall hard and slumped to the floor, groaning. England blinked. That had never happened before.

It almost made sense when the other Norwegian strode out casually, a grin on his face. "Oh, did I do that? Oopsie~"

Lukas hissed softly, "Loki… How..."

Loki smiled and extended his hand. "Here, let me help you up!"

Norway muttered with genuine irritation, "Don't...touch...me…"

The two men looked like identical twins; the only differences were that Loki's hair was a shade darker than Lukas's and that his sailor uniform was a bright red that contrasted sharply with Lukas's blue.

"Why can't we just say the past is in the past and all get along?" Loki asked.

"You just threw me at the wall!" Norway glared. Not many people could get him as angry as his second player could. "For no reason!"

"I DID say sorry," Loki laughed as he watched Norway struggling to get to his feet.

"Actually, you didn't…"

"And you never apologized for being in a relationship with Denmark, so we're even!" Loki triumphantly stated.

"First of all, your Denmark isn't the same one as this one… Second, WE AREN'T IN A RELATIONSHIP!" Norway retorted angrily, with a peevish look at England and Romania, who started looking at him inquisitively after Loki's previous statement.

"MINOR TECHNICALITIES!" Loki shouted.

"SHUT UP AND TELL ME WHY YOU'RE OUT!" Norway yelled in response.

Loki cocked his head and smirked, "Which shall it be?"

"What?"

"Well, I can't shut up AND tell you, now, can I?"

Norway glared, "Yes you can. Spill, then be quiet."

"But why should I do that?" Loki whined.

"Because there are three of us and one of you?" England suggested.

"Oh, come on, no need for violence! How about we just sit down and talk about it? I'll start the fire!" Loki pulled his flamethrower out from wherever he hid it—they never had been able to figure it out—and all the blood drained from the faces of the other three.

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_A/N: I hope you liked that this chapter was a little longer than the others... Anyway, the first name I found for 2p Norway was Loki and I thought it was kinda fitting so that's what I'm using. Review, favorite and follow please! Comments? Ideas? Suggestions? I want to hear them!_


	7. Chapter 7

France sincerely hoped that no one would stop him on his way to England's house. For one thing, it had already been too long, and for another, it definitely would not look good if anyone noticed that Italy was unconscious and lying across the laps of Germany, Romano, and Spain. They didn't know how the police would take it, but none of them wanted to find out. Fortunately, the drive in the too-full car was relatively uneventful, although Italy began twitching and crying out wordlessly, and soon they were almost at their destination.

"Angleterre's 'ouse should be right over 'e-" France broke off midword, rolled down the car window, and shouted, "WHAT ZE 'ELL 'APPENED 'ERE?!"

England was standing on his lawn with Romania, Norway, and... Norway? Behind him, the house was a raging inferno. The irritated Britt yelled back, "A psychotic Norwegian burned my house down, you frog!"

"Well, how was I supposed to know that trying to light a fireplace with a flamethrower was a bad idea?" the Norway in red retorted.

"Maybe the stupidity didn't strike you because you're a bloody idiot?" England suggested.

"Me? Bloody? I don't think so. How kind of you to worry."

England glared furiously at the Norwegian, as did the other Norwegian, surprisingly. Even Romania seemed annoyed.

Silence ensued as everyone exited the car, minus Italy, who lay on the seats under Romano's watchful eye. To break the awkward silence, France inquired, "Are any of you going to make introductions?"

The Norway in red gasped, probably just pretending to be offended, "You mean you don't remember me? Well, I'm Loki Bondevik."

Spain quickly put two and two together—he acted the fool sometimes, true, but he wasn't really dumb— and asked the small group, "So, since you obviously know about the second players, maybe you wouldn't mind telling us before someone dies?"

"... Well, fuck." England sighed, "I suppose keeping it from you at this point would do more harm than good. It's quite simple, really. In an alternate reality, our world is… Different. The history is much the same, from what I understand-" here his eyes flicked towards Loki- "but darker, bloodier, more dangerous. Our counterparts in that world are what we call second players… And several of them have nasty psychopathic tendencies."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," observed Loki.

"You still haven't explained why you're here!" Lukas snapped.

"Why would I do that? It's more fun watching you try to figure it out!" Loki grinned.

"Norway made a good point… Why the hell are these bastards here?!" Romano wanted to know.

"That's...more complicated," England admitted.

Loki burst out laughing so hard he collapsed to his knees and began rolling on the grass. "Why are we here? Priceless! You don't remember anything, do you?!"

"Angleterre, what is 'e talking about?"

"And here I thought a war would be hard to forget!" Tears streamed down Loki's face. "You guys are just too much!"

A slap rang out, and Loki stared at his counterpart while raising his fingers to touch the red handprint on his cheek.

"Now then…" Lukas turned to Romano. "You said 'bastards'. As in, more than one?"

"Angleterre, what are you not telling me?" France seemed stricken.

"Well, yeah, the asshole calling himself Luciano tried to kill me and my brother in our own house!" Romano raged.

"Everyone, shut the bloody hell up and I will try to explain!" England shouted. When everyone's voices died away, he cleared his throat. "Years ago… To begin, it wasn't really a war so much as an invasion. There weren't any battles, but one day they weren't here, and the next they were. They took us by surprise… All of us." His face showed that he was still ashamed of that.

"Then vhat happened?" Prussia spoke up for the first time. "Obviously they left, but now some are back. And if that Luciano guy gave Vest amnesia… I'll kill him!"

"I don't have amnesia," Germany muttered.

"Then vhat happened after you vent to visit Ita?"

"... I don't remember," Germany admitted.

"Was there a broken mirror?" Romania suddenly asked. Everyone jumped, having forgotten he was there.

"Si, si, there was," Spain answered, just as Romano said, "Si, but what does that have to do with anything?"

"Be quiet so I can tell you!" England reprimanded them. "Eventually, Norway, Romania and I managed to find a spell to trap all of them in the mirror world. They would still be able to see our world through mirrors, but they couldn't do anything unless they were freed."

"Freed… By breaking mirrors," Spain realized.

"Correct. Of course, it takes more than just breaking a mirror. If the person breaking the mirror is particularly susceptible, and the bonds holding their counterpart particularly weak, breaking a mirror could release their second player."

"Susceptible 'ow, exactly?" France posed the question on everyone's minds. "And why don't we remember any of this?"

"Fear," England stated simply. "The more scared one is of their counterpart, the more likely they are to unintentionally free them. My guess is that after the spell holding Luciano in the mirror weakened sufficiently, he manipulated Feliciano's reflection to scare him into breaking the mirror. As for why you don't remember…"

"We used magic to seal away your memories of the second players so you would be less likely to accidentally free them," finished Romania.

Germany inquired, "That sounds reasonable, but why didn't you just send them back where they came from?"

England, Romania, and Norway exchanged glances, but it was Norway who answered, "We couldn't do it because we needed a fourth person but there's only three of us."

"I'm magical too, bitches!" Loki announced.

"You would have messed everything up for fun," Norway retorted.

The second player rolled his eyes at that but didn't argue.

"If you're fucking done… Do ANY of you know why fratello won't wake up?" Worry was plain in Romano's voice, even as he cursed at them. "Fix it, dammit!"

Romania was the first one to reach Italy, and he laid a hand on his forehead. "He isn't in bad condition physically," he stated.

Norway suggested, "I would bet that his second player has something to do with it."

Romano interrupted, "I would bet that your fucking brain-wipe spell had something to do with it!"

England nodded, "It is possible."

"So remove it!" Romano demanded. "Who knows, maybe that's the potato bastard's problem too!"

Romania hesitated before replying, "He would rather not remember. He may not wake up the same person he was..."

"I don't fucking care. Fix your shit." Romano glared at him challengingly.

Romania flinched visibly before mumbling what sounded like nonsense and waving his hand over Veneziano's head. Immediately the Italian started twitching, then convulsing, and a shriek pierced the air.

"DOITSU, MAKE IT STOP! PER FAVORE!"

Everyone crowded around, concerned, but Germany and Romano were the most distressed. "What the hell did you do to him?!" Romano yelled. "If he dies, I'm going to sue your ass to the grave and back!" Nobody had the heart to reprimand him when his eyes were sparkling with unshed tears.

Germany reached toward Italy and whispered, "I'm here, Feliciano... I'm here."

The only thing left to do was wait.

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_A/N: Mm, I hope you enjoy this chapter... Explanations have been explained, as I'm sure you were all wondering what was up. And Italy isn't dead yet. (Don't hurt me...) Pro tip: Don't try to write a scene with ten characters at once. Several parts of this went through a couple of rewrites before I was even satisfied enough to post it. Review please~_


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